


Just a Game

by Kittenbedtimestories



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Filling In the Gaps, Graphic depiction of a dead body, what happened that night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenbedtimestories/pseuds/Kittenbedtimestories
Summary: “A game. Just a game.” He spread his arms wide and offered what he probably thought was a winning smile. To the Colonel it looked like a shit-eating grin. “Something that’ll give us an opportunity for revenge, and a sure-fire way of knowing what fate wants from us.” He seemed to laugh at his own private joke.
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Mark Fischbach, Celine | The Seer/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel
Kudos: 10





	Just a Game

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted on likepuppetsonastring.tumblr.com]

1:00 am.  
The Colonel hadn’t had this much fun in ages. The night seemed to be passing in a multi-color blur, with lots of games and a bit too much drink. He could barely breathe for laughing as he stumbled into his seat at the bar, watching the butler and Mr. Lincoln help Damien to right himself, and doubling up again as he stumbled into the now empty keg beside him, grinning wildly and chuckling with the rest of them.  
“How he’s still doing that, at his age,” Mark laughed as he slumped into the seat beside him, “I’ll never know. Damien’s a tough old lad.”  
William huffed and turned slightly away, making Mark sigh heavily. “Colonel-”  
“William.”  
“But I’ve always-”  
“You lost that right years ago.”  
Mark frowned and looked down at the floor. “Will. I know we didn’t part on the best of terms…There was a lot of bad blood between us.”  
“Yes,” Will replied shortly, wanting Mark to get to the point. Mark shuffled, and after a pause, continued.  
“What do you say we put this quarrel to rest, eh?”  
He narrowed his eyes at the grinning actor. “How do you suggest we do that?”  
“A game. Just a game.” He spread his arms wide and offered what he probably thought was a winning smile. To the Colonel it looked like a shit-eating grin. “Something that’ll give us an opportunity for revenge, and a sure-fire way of knowing what fate wants from us.” He seemed to laugh at his own private joke.

1:20am  
The wine cellar was cooler than the rest of the house, exposed stone walls making it feel more like a cave than a room in a lavish mansion. William had never liked the cold, and liked it less now, sharing it with the one person he’d give anything to be rid of.  
Mark pulled a bottle off the wall and offered it to the Colonel, handing it to him with a small smile. “1982. Good year for wine.” The Colonel didn’t move to take it from him.  
“Then you drink it.”  
“I would,” Mark sighed, “but you know I can’t. Not good for my health, you know.” He knew, of course. He’d still rather Mark drink it than him.  
Mark put the bottle back down on the shelf and put his hands in the pockets of his robe  
“What about this game you proposed?” The Colonel frowned, leaning against the wall, hoping he appeared casual.  
“Ah, yes,” Mark smiled again, and then he did something rather unexpected. He pointed to the silver revolver tucked into William’s belt.  
William’s hand went to it immediately, and Mark shook his head. “Im not suggesting we duel, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m unarmed.” He said it as if it meant “harmless”.  
“I was going to suggest a bit of Russian Roulette. You’ve always loved that one.”  
“Bullshit. As if I’m going to let you point my own gun at me, after all this time, after Celine-”  
“William! Please.” Mark took a step toward him, but made no move to take the gun. Instead he seemed to be pleading, one hand stretched toward him as if he’d like to comfort him, but a look from him stopped his advance. “I’m tired of all this fighting. I’m tired of having to go through Damien to talk to you, and as for Celine…I…” He shook his head slightly. “She’s made her own choices. I never had any control over what she did, and yes, it hurt. It hurt like hell, but…Will, I just want my brother back.”  
Dear god, did he actually have tears in his eyes? Maybe it was the drink, maybe it was the fact that he was home again, after so long, maybe it was just pure stupidity, but William pulled the gun from his belt slowly, and nodded.  
“One round. If I shoot you, it’s your own fault.”  
“Yes. Yes, of course,” Mark grinned widely. “I can’t blame you.”

1:25am  
Mark watched the Colonel load just one chamber of the gun, looking as if he wanted to help when his liquor-loosened grip nearly dropped the bullet on the floor, but letting him have this. William handed him the revolver, and watched him spin it.  
This wasn’t a good idea. This was dangerous. This was mad.  
But life needs a bit of madness, doesn’t it?  
That’s what he kept telling himself.  
Mark aimed carefully, and suddenly William was staring down the barrel of his own gun, and he wasn’t going to get to say goodbye to Damien, he’d never see Celine again, and what would Mark say, how would he explain-?  
Click.  
William barely flinched, but raised an eyebrow at his grinning gunman.  
“See? Looks like fate’s on your side, eh, old friend?” He handed the gun back over. “Your turn.”  
“Mark…I can’t…”  
“I trust you.” Mark stepped out to switch places with him, and suddenly he was pointing a gun directly at Mark’s chest. How had the other man kept it steady? The room was fairly spinning, and the gun was awkward in his hand, and the trigger was too thin, too fiddly.  
“Go on, then. Take your shot. Fair is fair, after all.”  
“This is ridiculous.”  
“Of course it is! But why not live a little? Life’s-”  
“For the living. Yes, but…”  
“I took my shot at you, for stealing my…for…for Celine’s choice. And for leaving us for Africa, and for the fight we never finished. And it’s your turn now. I know I’ve not been the best friend to you. I know you blame me for Celine’s leaving, and for…for what happened over there.”  
“That was an accident.” The words were harsh, but Mark nodded calmly.  
“I know, Will, I know. I don’t blame you. I never did. You’re still my friend, even after all this time. I know that’s hard to believe, but…Please. Colonel. Let me absolve my sins, won’t you? Just one shot. Just a quick click, and we can put this all behind us. Wouldn’t you like that?”  
He would. He so very much would. He wanted so badly to come home, he wanted the boy who’d taken him in and become his family to come back to him, and let him back in. And just one click…one harmless little click…he could have it all, all over again. Why shouldn’t he trust him? After all, like he said, it was Celine’s own choice. Perhaps her leaving had set him back on the straight and narrow. Perhaps he really was sorry, really saw how much he’d hurt them, how much he’d hurt him.  
But even as he pulled the gun back up to aim, something felt wrong, and the glint in Mark’s eyes was off, something wasn’t right, but he had to be wrong, didn’t he? Couldn’t he trust his friend? Just a quick click, nothing wrong with that…

Click.  
BANG.

1:30am  
It was like watching a ragdoll fall. And the blood matched the crimson night robe. And the stain was slow to spread, and the wine bottle had fallen and shattered and added to the stain, and he couldn’t move.  
“It…it was an accident…Mark, it was an accident, I-I didn’t…I wouldn’t…I swear, Mark…?”  
Mark’s eyes were still open, glassy, and his face expressionless. his legs and arms were twisted at impossible angles.  
“It was an accident, I s-swear…”  
The stain was spreading, and someone upstairs, probably Damien, laughed raucously over some joke William had missed. Someone upstairs…someone was going to see. Someone was going to ask questions.  
William stumbled up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him, shambling back into the billiard room. He grunted as the detective put his arm around him, slapped him away, but the detective took it as a threat. Soon they were fighting, and Damien was pulling at the Colonel as the District Attorney was pulling at Mr. Lincoln. Then William was shoving Damien away from him, and he was almost running to his room. He collapsed into bed, watching the ceiling spin above him.  
Maybe it hadn’t been real. Maybe it’d been a dream.  
He heard people coming up the stairs, thought he heard Damien say something, and the DA reply, laughing but grunting as if in pain.  
Damien. Dear god, what would Damien think? What would he say? He’d blame him, he’d push him away, he’d lose everything he had left…  
But…no. No, Damien would understand. He’d explain everything, and Damien, good man, smart man, would understand. He’d take his side, and the DA, of course they’d defend him. They wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him, they hadn’t last time. They’d never betray him, would they? No, of course not…  
His last thought as the alcohol in his system dragged him into unconsciousness was that he couldn’t be blamed. It was an accident, of course. Just a game.


End file.
